Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
Some days, the only thing you hope for is a speedy progression. You want a get-along. You'd just like to see the minutes tick away at an extraordinary pace, or just at the pace that you're demanding. You'd like nothing more than an accelerated or abbreviated to-do list. You'd just like to get back to the important stuff, rather than earning a paycheck to make the rent and the groceries this month, again, just like all those previous months. All that you'd like to get to is that comfort zone of nipping on that bottle of bourbon or sharing a bottle of wine on the couch with that person you're in love with. The daydreams that you have don't make you an alcoholic, but when the punching out time comes, you rush to have that first relaxing glass, to settle into that place that's all your own.
The Keston Cobblers Club is the band that you'd want to share these hours and their moments with, as you're able to slide back into the solitude that you missed all day long. It's your own and you're back to finally being able to hear yourself think again. It's a wonderful feeling - to properly ingest, imbibe and digest words, sounds, emotions and looks. It's when you're able to parse through all the silly games that you had to deal with during those tough daytime hours. None of them mattered. All that matters are those tender moments when it's just skin-to-skin and cheek-to-cheek with the person that makes you red, that makes you beam, that makes your forehead glisten with nervousness. Even when you think you know them as well as you possibly could, they'll do something that reminds you that they're to be watched, that they're as unpredictable as they ever were and it's electrifying. You drink more because you're happy, not because you're depressed. You finish that bottle with him or her and you silently open a second and this just goes on.
There are hearts of gold and there are hearts of stone in people, the Keston Cobblers Club reminds us, but when they go swimming, the bodies that hold them in-place keep them all afloat. You'd never know which body held which until you dug in a little, until you shared some of these after-hours nights, some of those bottles. It's only then when you'd be able to safely say if you wasted your time or if there was a purpose.